Classy
by Classless
Summary: When Derek and his buddies go for a night out on the town, he runs into someone he never imagined meeting. Especially not in a strip club. Rating for explict sexual situations and language.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Moneymaker**

Derek wrinkled his nose as the bouncer checked his ID. The other bouncer was holding open the door as his teammates, laughing and joking, filed inside, but he was just about ready to gag at the wave of smoke that rolled into the Boston night.

"Don't worry man, this place is classy. Not like the joint in Toronto." His friend Ted clapped him on the back and ushered him inside.

"Oh, yes, because 'Smilin' Eyes' flashing in green neon screams classy." His shaggy hair fell in his eyes. "Why do I ever let you call the shots?"

"Because I'm your best friend and goalie. You'd be lost without me," Ted said, leading the way to a table already filled with hockey players.

"Ted, there's a sexy leprechaun painted on the bar. A sexy leprechaun! And it's crowded, we can't even see the stage," Derek huffed, resigning himself to a seat.

Grinning, his friend waved over the waitress. "For now. We're just waiting for Brian to show up. He'll get us into the VIP room."

The cocktail waitress was wearing lime green hot paints, a sparkly green bra, and way too much lip liner. In the four inch stilettos she wore, Derek figured she had to be at least as tall as him, with just about as many curves. Not his type.

"My name's Terri," she said, her voice betraying the stereotypical Bostonian accent. "I'll be taking care of you strong boys tonight. So what's it going to be party pooper," she leaned close to Derek's dour face, "Sam Adams or shots?"

"Shots!" the table cried out.

"Just beer for me." Derek blushed.

"Pay no attention to the scrawny one." Ted shoved him hard. "We need both shots and beer. Derek needs shots, beer, and pussy."

"Fuck off."

Terri just laughed and pinched his cheek. "Pussy, huh? Will that be for here or to go?"

The shots burned but the beer helped. Grimacing, he downed another whiskey, the Sam Adams chasing like it like a NASCAR driver. The music was loud--louder when there was a girl on stage. A woman with a bad dye job and an impressive rack came out wearing daisy dukes and a gingham bikini top as "Sweet Cherry Pie" started blasting from the speakers.

It only took a minute for the first g-string of the night to make its appearance, much to the other players' joy. Derek slumped in his seat, feeling like he'd never left high school.

"See, only tits. No lips."

"Ahh, classy."

"Told ya so!"

A large blonde man clapped a hand on both their shoulders. "You ain't seen nothing yet, my boys."

"Brian," Ted scooted over to make room for their friend. "Where the hell ya been?"

Brian shrugged. "What are you guys still doing out here? All the action's in the back."

Ted tapped the face of his cell. "Doesn't work in this bass ackwards country of yours."

"Inferior Canadian technology."

"Don't be bitter just because we whooped up on you."

Derek grinned for the first time since he got there. They'd played an excellent game against the Huskies. He'd scored two goals alone, and assisted one other. The Blues were up in the semifinals the next evening. Their coach had asked them to rest with a twinkle in his eye, knowing full well that the group of upperclassmen would do anything but. Ted and Brian had met last year during the same preseason tourney, prompting the little shindig Derek was now trying to escape.

"The guys and I have a nice table in the back. Get your tab and let's go," Brian said, leading the way.

Terri waved as the boys threaded through the smoke filled room. Another woman had taken the stage, taller and thinner than the country gal, but much more limber. She was hanging off the pole by one leg, stretching her hands all the way to the stage. Ted stared openly at her tits pushing against the miniscule gold bikini top.

Thanks to the alcohol, Derek's discomfort eased, but once again, the dancer wasn't his type. Too tan, hair too short, not enough butt.

The VIP room was quieter, but no less hazy. Music thumped, a repetitive drum and bass song, but no one was on stage. The visitors from Toronto plunked down in chairs covered in stained green velvet.

"Welcome to the good life, amigos." Brian waved at a be-sequined waitress and shots appeared almost magically.

The DJ's voice came over the speakers, and even the raucous hockey players hushed. "We've got a special treat for all you lonely guys here tonight. Chastity is back," he paused for catcalls from the audience, "just for a couple songs. So be nice, otherwise you'll scare this sweet thing away."

"You'll like her." Brian grinned at Ted. "Legs for miles."

"How do strippers pick their names?" Derek asked, though his friends ignored him. "Seriously, does no one else see the irony in this but me?"

His rant died on his lips. Beats bombarded his ears, a song he vaguely recognized, some Timbaland remix shit. He couldn't concentrate though, because the best ass he'd ever seen was swaying to the music. There were pink ruffles on the boy shorts that her g-string peeked out of, and matching pink platform stilettos. He couldn't even see the string of her bikini, hidden under a cascade of chestnut hair. It didn't matter though, because he was still staring at the ass.

He recognized that ass.

Ted pulled out his wallet, counting his ones.

"Ted man, you know how I said you owed me one?" Derek smirked at his friend and snatched the wad. "Consider it paid!"

"Hey!" The goalie started after him, but Derek was half way to the stage. Shrugging, Ted sat down and ordered another crown and coke.

"Why do you let him do you like that?" Brian raised an eyebrow at his drinking buddy.

"He's Derek. He does everyone like that. Better just to go with the flow."

Their glasses clinked in mutual cheers, and they sat back, enjoying the view. Chastity was on the pole, lowering her self slowly to the floor, her legs in a split. It impressed all the guys there except one. Derek practically had to elbow his way to a front row spot, but he made it, holding a five out and hoping it was the largest bill there.

It wasn't, and he watched her crawl over to an older man, letting him slide a twenty into her cleavage. He was next, though, and for his five, 'Chastity' did a back bend that pointed her nipples right at his face.

Horror washed over her features as he snapped the string back over his cash.

"Casey, I think we need to talk."

--

Derek was leaving the men's bathroom when a woman's hand authoritatively grabbed his shirt and dragged him down a dark hallway.

"You know, normally, I would find this very intriguing, but this is just a little disgusting."

"Shut up, Derek."

"Make me."

Casey cast a furtive glance to make sure no one was around and pulled him into a small office. The lone light fixture sputtered as she flipped the switch, but it cast a steady yellow glow over the closet-like room. Crossing her arms, she glared at him without saying a word.

"So…nice place."

"What are you doing here!" she exploded, getting in his face.

"Hockey tournament. I'm sure Nora told you," Derek answered calmly, hands in his pockets.

"Ugh! I knew that. Why are you here?" she hissed. He blue eyes narrowed to angry slits.

"I was trying to have fun. You are the ultimate fun ruiner, you know that? You're like Lamey McPoopyPants."

"I am not McPoopyPants. And how do you think I feel? I had to take my top off in front of you!"

"Yeah, 'cause you're the victim in that scenario. You never stop to think about who you're inflicting your nakedness upon."

"There are plenty of people who want to see me naked, I'll have you know."

Derek snorted, but didn't disagree. They studied each other in silence, Derek wobbling a bit with alcohol, Casey's stomach doing anxious flip-flops.

"You can't tell mom and George. And oh god, you cannot tell my dad."

"Whoa, hold up there Princess. I don't think you're in any position to tell me what I can or cannot do."

"Der-ek! I'm serious!" The panic in her face pulled the corners of her mouth down. The sincerity of her expression juxtaposed against the absurdity of the situation made him laugh out loud.

"This is ridiculous. I can't believe I'm having this conversation. With you, of all people." Derek rubbed at his temples. "Emily, I could see, but Casey, what ever happened to your feminist values and stop exploiting women and blah blah blah?"

"This isn't exploitation. I am here of my own free will, because I can use my femininity to…to…pay rent. If anything, you could say I'm exploiting them."

"They are treating you like an object! To be bought!"

"No, that's not the way things work here! This place is classy." Casey lifted her chin in a familiarly haughty expression.

"I keep hearing that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

She just huffed in indignation.

"You know what? I'm not going to let this one slide. You told Nora you were in a dance company!"

"Well, technically, I'm dancing, and this is a limited liability corporation, thank you very much."

"I don't care about technicalities! And since when did you get good at lying?"

"It just came to me. Like in a dream or something. Why do you even care?"

"I don't know!" He threw his hands in the air for punctuation. Narrowing his hazel eyes, he leveled his gaze on her. "But I do. Case, if this is about money, call your Dad. He wouldn't want this."

Casey slumped against the wooden desk, inadvertently knocking over a cup of pens. "I can't. He already pays my tuition, which is outrageous. It'd be too much. And you know mom can't handle it, not with Liz and Edwin about to start university." She picked up one of the pens and twirled it absentmindedly in her hand.

Putting his hands on either side of her, Derek leaned on the desk. They were too close, invading each other's personal space, but then, they'd learned to deal with that over the years. "Let me help. I have time to work."

Her head whipped up to finally meet his stare. "No you don't. You have hockey. And school. And girlfriends, I'm sure."

"Then what do you want me to do?" His face was so close to hers that it made her uneasy. But then, the whole situation was uncomfortable.

"Just don't tell my parents. Please. I'll do anything."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Money, trade, homework, I don't know. What ever you want, other than quitting, I'll do it." She chewed at her bottom lip nervously, wishing she'd put more qualifications on the plea.

Straightening, he pondered for a moment. "Now, that is an offer that is too good to pass up. I want a lap dance."

"Is that all? Excellent. I'll get Terri. Or Sandy, you'd like Sandy, in here in a jiffy." Casey made a move to leave, but Derek's arm around her shoulder stopped her.

"Oh, no. You're not getting off that easy."

The sound of her gulp echoed in the small office.

"See, I have two goals in life, Case. One, to be a professional hockey player, which seems to be moving along quite nicely, and two, to do everything in my power to piss you off. Sadly, that last one has been on hiatus since you skipped the country. Why would I pass up a golden opportunity like this one?"

She watched as the smirk spread across his face, eyes bright with mischief. It made her stomach tense and goose bumps breakout on her arms. Just like it had in high school.

"I want a private lap dance. From you. Maybe then you'll think twice about your chosen profession."

"This isn't my career, merely a stop along the job train." She flashed him an eager smile, but he stood firm.

"Of no consequence. Lap dance, or I clue in the parentals to your shenanigans."

Sighing, she held out her hand. "Deal. But I reserve the right to hate you forever for this."

"Already factored in, toots." They shook, but neither one of them wanted to break it off first.

Finally, Casey asked, "So my shift is pretty much over. Do you want to go now or do you want to stay here with 'the gang'"

"Now. Please god now. The leprechaun theme is starting to freak me the fuck out."

**Author's notes:**

**I hope you guys will bare with me on this one. First chapter in my 'Casey as a stripper' drabble some how turned into a real story, probably two or three chapters long. Anyway, most of the juicy bits are still to come. **

**Carolyn**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Close Call**

"Are you even wearing any clothes under there at all?" Derek asked, eyeing her long pink trench coat.

"Don't be gross."

"It's a legitimate question, considering your current line of work."

"Get in the car, Derek." Casey clicked twice on her remote key and the lights on her car flashed.

Derek stopped dead in his tracks. It was a windy night, and he could smell the stink from the dumpsters behind the club on the breeze. The fumes weren't enough to budge him. "Wait, that's your car?"

"Uh, duh?"

"I am not getting in that girl-mobile. I feel like I'm losing man points just standing near it."

Sighing, Casey leaned against the trunk of her used VW Bug. The celery green paint reflected the green and pink of the club's neon sign. "I can't believe you're still this immature. Man points? Is this anything like the 'male code'?"

"Not at all. The 'male code' is something I made up. Man points are grave matters. Lose too many and you're required to watch Streisand movies."

"Wouldn't you just lose more man points because you watched a Streisand movie?"

"It's a vicious cycle."

"Ah, but you see, I'm sure you'd regain more than enough man points if the reason you're getting in the car is to get a private lap dance from a super hot babe." Casey smiled with presumptive victory as Derek stroked his chin.

"There is one flaw in your logic," he said.

"Oh?"

"Your situation requires a super hot babe, which, sadly, this situation seems to be lacking."

"Just get in the damn car!"

The Holiday Inn wasn't far from the club, one of the reasons Ted had managed to drag him there in the first place. The man at the front desk didn't bat an eyelash as Casey strolled through the doors, powder blue duffle slung over her shoulder, and a nervous Derek at her side. He had pictured the conversation in his head—he'd be a prick, she'd call him on it, he wouldn't care, she'd back down, but somehow his plan veered wildly off course.

Sliding the key into the reader, he heard the inevitable click, and the door swung open.

"No turning back now," he muttered to himself, flipping the light switch.

"Did you say something?" Casey asked, surveying the room. The two queen beds had matching hideous red and brown blankets, fashioned from the same standard issue nylon hotels seemed to favor for blankets, curtains, and chair upholstery. A desk and a chair sat opposite the beds, next to the TV which perched atop the ubiquitous low wooden hotel dresser.

"Cozy, isn't it?"

Rolling her eyes, Casey plopped her duffle on top of the dresser, pulling out an iPod dock.

"Derek, can you pull that chair away from the wall?"

He just nodded, licking his lips. This was a bad idea. The chair wasn't heavy, but he set it down with a thunk the guests below would certainly hear. Casey looked up from her iPod, shooting him a reassuring smile.

It just made him more nervous. She on the other hand, simply shrugged off her trench, grabbed her duffle and headed for the bathroom.

"I need to change. Make yourself comfortable."

"Make yourself comfortable?" Derek mouthed at his reflection. He stared at the chair with its ugly red seat and chipped walnut stain. He ran a finger over the curve of the back, and dusted off the cushion. Grimacing with imagined pain, Derek gingerly sat down. It felt like a normal chair, not particularly relaxing, but something he could sit on through a fancy dinner if he had to. It didn't feel like a chair in which he'd get a lap dance from his step-sister, but then he didn't think that there was a single chair in the world designed for that circumstance.

"Just remember," he told his reflection, "no matter how scary this gets, I need you to tough it out."

The man in the mirror simply shook his head.

The bathroom door creaked open and his jaw dropped. Her hair hung in long, loose waves down her back, and she'd taken off most of the make up from the club. She was barefoot, too, making his small hotel room feel more intimate than the tiny office they'd been trapped in earlier. But the real problem was the lacey blue bra and g-string.

"Even though this is an unsanctioned event, I'm imposing the club rules. Rule number one: No matter how I touch you, you are never allowed to touch me." Casey paused, making sure he was listening. "Rule number two: if you violate rule one, I'm allowed to castrate you. Is that clear?"

Derek nodded numbly, and she pushed play.

A woman's voice filled the room, accompanied by a slow electronic beat, but it was impossible for him to pay attention; Casey had started to dance. Hands over her head, eyes closed, she danced.

He had seen her dance several times before: as a cheerleader, at recitals, even at the strip club. But this was different. Casey had always been dancing for an audience then. Now Casey was dancing just for him.

Her hips swayed to the music. There was a pattern to them, a hypnotic rhythm of left, right, and around. She liked how intensely he watched her. His eyes were glued to her hips, so she dragged her hands up her body. His gaze followed. Her own boldness made her blush, but she tried to keep the unprofessional thoughts at bay. He was just a man, after all, and this was just a job.

Their eyes met, and Derek swallowed hard at the smile that played on her lips. He hoped she couldn't read his thoughts, but he guessed she had an inkling. With nothing but his undivided attention, Casey had him right where she wanted. Slowly she sauntered up to him, heart pounding. Close to him, the room seemed twenty degrees hotter, the flush of her cheeks spreading across her chest.

With a grace Derek hadn't seen before, Casey spun into a backbend. She draped herself over his torso, but held her body away from his using the chair as leverage. Her hair almost obscured the view of her cleavage, but the smell of her added another dimension to the heat between them.

In the years of living on his own, he hadn't realized how much he missed her perfume. Now that he'd smelled it again, he understood why so many men were willing to pay her for attention. He clung to the edges of his seat to keep from burying his fingers in her silken curls.

Slowly, she lowered herself into his lap, hips never pausing in their sensuous twists. The stubble of his chin brushed her arm, making her shiver and almost lose her grip. Suddenly, her stubborn refusal to quit her job seemed worth anything—anything but the fluttering in her stomach. Her back touched cloth, the warmth of his body making her light-headed.

It had become obvious that he was enjoying her little show, even if he wasn't going to admit it. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he was attracted to her like this, a rush bigger than any of the cheap thrills she'd had prying dollars from paying customers. This was Derek, and right now, all he was thinking about was the way she felt.

With a gentle nudge, Casey pushed his legs apart, sliding down his thighs. He jumped when her hands trailed down after her, and really wished he could adjust himself without looking like an asshole. She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was watching, and, one-handed, unclasped her bra.

Before, at the club, it was public nudity. Here, it was private, and she was doing this because he'd told her to, fully expecting her to refuse. Arm across her breasts, Casey crawled back up the same way she'd come down, drawing her bare skin across every inch of Derek she could. She straddled him, settling on top of his hardness. Their eyes met again, and more than the music and the sensuality of the dance, more than the press of him rubbing so intimately against her, the dark, masculine look he gave her made her tremble a little.

Carefully tucking her legs underneath her, Casey wound her fingers in his shaggy hair. She pulled his head back as she pressed herself closer to him. Derek had to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the conflicting sensations—warm, soft woman versus the pain of her sharp tug. She rose to her knees, looking down at him, fighting to steady her breathing. Without warning, she released her grip, and Derek was lost in the valley of her breasts. He could hear her heart beat and could see the skin around her nipple pucker as it became erect, but he didn't move, hoping she wouldn't either.

Blue eyes bright with curiosity, she watched his face as he tried to respect the boundaries she'd set down. Derek remained annoyingly calm, not touching her, not kissing her, not running his tongue over the peaks of her nipples. Instead, Casey again grasped him by the hair, gently pulling his head back so he could answer her unspoken question.

It was boiling in the tiny room. Derek felt his skin start to burn where she pressed against him. A slick bead of perspiration slid between her breasts. The music stopped, and the silence only added to the heat.

She alternately loosened and tightened her hold on him, sending tingles across his scalp and down his spine, but his gaze never wavered from her eyes. Bringing her free hand to his face, her slim fingers played across his brow, down his cheek, and over his chin. Derek's forearms started to shake with effort as dug his nails into the plywood underneath the cushion.

Casey's thumb wandered across his bottom lip. He pleaded with his dark brown eyes for her to stop, and was only met by her pondering smile. It was Casey's version of a smirk, a contemplative twist at the corner of her mouth. Already infuriated at how calm she was, frustrated by her teasing hips, and incredibly turned on by her nearness, it was the grin that broke him.

His hands rose, almost by a will of their own.

The door clicked, and the yellow light of the hall flooded into the claustrophobically small room. "Shit man, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Ted," Derek croaked.

Stifling a shriek, Casey sprang off his lap and dashed into the bathroom.

Derek groaned, heaving himself to his feet. "Fuck, man, can't you knock?"

Ted just shrugged and flopped down on one of the unmade beds, drunk. Finally able to adjust himself, Derek stretched and knocked on the bathroom door. Without warning, Casey brushed past him, pink trench hastily buttoned. She took one look at Ted sprawled out on the bed and bolted down the hallway.

"Casey, wait!" Derek sprinted after her, catching up just as the elevator doors started to shut. Waving desperately at the motion sensor, he slipped inside with her.

"Case," he reached for her, but she flinched away, afraid to touch him again. "Don't be…"  
"You've made your point," she interrupted, unable to look at him. "I'm humiliated. Good job."

"That's not what…"

"Just leave me alone." Arms crossed, Casey scrunched into the corner, trying to get as far away as she could.

He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away. "Casey, stop it."

"Derek, if you don't get out of this elevator I'll…"

"You'll what? Call me a jerk?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Ooh! Get out you…you…idiot!" Wielding her duffle in front of her, she pushed him out of the elevator and stabbed furiously at the close door button.

She could hear him calling her name as the elevator started its descent. Wiping at her eyes, she wondered how many pints of Ben & Jerry's it was going to take to make the knot in her stomach go away.


End file.
